Something Much Too Deep
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: A Huddy Oneshot. Mainly Cuddy centered. And even if she loves him, she can't be with him... because sometimes that's just too hard.


**Well, kiddies, this is just something I felt like doing. I've been channeling some Huddy. It's pretty short, but it loves comments, nonetheless. Just kidding (almost). So, read and enjoy! And I don't own anyone. Nor the song "I Will Remember You" - Sarah McLachlan (lyrics in bold). Oh. And it's a oneshot.  
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**It's funny how we feel so much, but cannot say a word. We are **_**screaming **_**inside... but can't be heard.**

The sheets were soft against her bare shaven legs. She pulled his shirt over her head. The floor was cold. Softly, ever so quietly, she moved through his house. He was asleep. For now. She had to be awake. She couldn't relax. Not here.

It wasn't for the lack of trying to relax. She had tried to sleep, but after she realized she had not fallen asleep, but was merely in a day dream, she decided to get a drink. And the water was soothing, but it wasn't enough. She wanted it to fill her completely so she couldn't feel.

The night was unexpected, too surreal to believe. House at a bar. Cuddy, the day being too hard, at the same bar. Just for one shot and to go home. But, it was more than one shot. And House was being... well, House. No matter what Cuddy could do, she still felt that something. That magnetic something she ignored so often she could turn it off at will.

But, sometimes... on rare occasions... that magnetic something overpowered her senses and she found herself thinking about House. And, if he was close enough, her mouth found its way to his. He never pushed her away. He never would. Because he felt it too... sometimes.

Cuddy was peering over the glass raised to her lips. She was staring at the hanging picture of Woody Allen. She pondered this a minute, wondering why someone would have Woody Allen hanging in their kitchen. It wasn't a big picture and there wasn't anything strange about it... except that it was Woody Allen. In House's kitchen. On the wall. Above the stove.

That instinctually led Cuddy to question what kind of person House was. Someone that she couldn't possibly be with. He was someone she could love though. She knew that. Because she felt that... sometimes.

"Hey."

His voice made her jump, but she covered it well by turning quickly. She lowered the glass, then set it on the counter. He was in boxers. They extended beyond the scar on his thigh.

"Woody Allen's in your kitchen."

"Man's a genius."

"You think?"

"I _know_."

**I am **_**so**_** afraid to love you, more afraid to lose. Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose.**

He had hurt her before. And it wasn't just once. It was that pain which kept her away from him. How could you love someone you hate? How could you hate someone you love? Either way, it was still the same. And she needed to distance herself from that.

The first time they slept together. The next morning. It was... he was... there was so much going on inside of her head and it was all fuzzy because they both had been drinking. Drinking was always part of the equation when they wound up in bed together.

He had not been cold. Nor distant. But, different towards her. Like he had been expecting this and when it finally happened, he was disappointed. Not in the sex or the performance on either part, but of her as herself. As if he was expecting something else from her. Something that she would never be able to figure out. He didn't say anything or do anything to indicate this disappointment. She felt it. It sickened her. And it hurt. Because she had loved him. Then. In that moment. And he was disappointed.

Now. She wanted to push him away. Shove him hard enough to cause him to fall back. Because that disappointment never left his eyes. And it was there now. Staring at her. He was doing it without even knowing it. And she wondered why she was such a disappointment. And she was certain that was why she could never be with this man.

She turned her back to him, looking back at Woody Allen. He crossed the kitchen, limping, and his arms found themselves around her waist. He leaned in and slightly to the side, his face becoming buried in her curly dark hair. He breathed out, the warmth of his breath enough to make her forget.

**Once there was a darkness... deep and endless night. You gave me **_**everything you had**_**, you gave me light...**

"You coming back to bed?" his voice was rough, tired even.

She nodded, "Yes."

His hands moved to her hips and he turned her around. He bent towards her and kissed her, gently because usually he wasn't. This was a real treat for him. He never could be gentle, not around her, except for now. He was alive in the now. She was barely able to keep up with the now.

She followed him. Back to his bedroom. The bedroom she would leave the next morning when the sun was coming up. The bedroom she never wanted to return to after tonight. The bedroom her mind would often take comfort in when she felt too alone in her own home. The bedroom that held that deep, dark secret.

And... despite the fact she knew this would all be over, all be broken, in a few short hours... she smiled.

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** Fin.**


End file.
